


Cousin Raymond Comes to Nottingham

by Lyledebeast



Category: Pilgrimage (2017), Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hypocrisy, Past Abuse, The Crusades, raymond is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyledebeast/pseuds/Lyledebeast
Summary: Sir Raymond de Merville comes to Nottingham to visit his cousin, Guy of Gisborne.  On the way, he encounters his cousin's enemy in the forest and is detained.





	Cousin Raymond Comes to Nottingham

Guy of Gisborne found himself eyeing the road from London with a mixture of anxiety and dread that made him even brusquer with his men than usual.  After reprimanding them for talking too much, he had overheard a particularly insubordinate one mutter, “You’d think having family visit would make him less of an arse, not more.”

That man obviously didn’t know his cousin Raymond.

Raymond’s father was the oldest brother of Guy’s mother and had inherited the family estate.  When he and Isabella arrived half-starved in France, Lord de Merville was away fighting in the Holy Land, but Raymond had not yet accompanied him.  He was only ten years older than Guy, and he had taken to the big brother role with zeal.  Guy had been glad of any interest from him at first, but that did not last.  His aunt had called it “rough play,” but the fact was Raymond was a bully.  If Guy attempted to “play rough” in kind, a beating usually resulted.  He had eventually learned not to react at all, a lesson that had proven useful later in life.  Moreover, Raymond had a tongue like a poison dagger.  Even though he was always much stronger than Guy physically, his words hurt more than his fists ever had.  That, too, had prepared Guy for the life he lived now.

And now, he had to add rudeness to Raymond’s already long list of character flaws.  His message had said that he would arrive at midday, but now the sun was sinking fast and there had been no sign of him. Guy turned at the sound of hoofbeats and saw the sheriff riding towards him on his white horse.

“Where is this cousin of yours, Gisborne?” he shouted. “Lost? Does imbecility run in your family? If you think I’m going to let you waste any more time waiting . . . “

Vaisey trailed off and Guy followed his gaze to the road behind him.  A single knight was coming towards them on foot, taking slow, pained steps, as though he had been walking for a long time.  He was wearing the de Merville coat of arms.

Guy rode forward to meet him, unsurprised to find the sheriff by his side.

“Sir Guy,” the man began, uncertain.

“Oui.   Je suis Sir Guy,” he replied, wincing internally at how rusty his French sounded.

“Nous avons été pris embuscade,” said the knight, panting.  Guy did not see the scroll in his hand until he raised it towards him. “Les voleurs m’ont envoyé pour vous donner ceci.”

Before Guy could reach the scroll, Vaisey snatched it from the knight’s hand, tearing it open.

“Hood!” he gasped as he read the contents.  He turned to Guy with a malevolent smirk.  “He’s asking £10,000 for your cousin’s safe return, Gisborne.  I don’t think I feel inclined to pay that much.”

Guy wanted to reply that he didn’t either, but was confident that would not go over well in the end.  Raymond’s arrival had been postponed, not cancelled.

“My cousin spent three years fighting in the crusades, my lord,” he said instead.  “I think he can handle Hood.”

Vasiey grinned.  “Well then.  They should have a lot to talk about.”

The sheriff rode away as Guy leaned down, whispering to the knight in halting French that he would order a horse sent back for him.  But when he followed the sheriff, it was with a smirk on his lips.  Cousin Raymond could handle Hood, but he was not so sure Hood could handle Cousin Raymond.

* * *

Robin and the gang watched the French knights with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.  Their coat of arms was unfamiliar to Robin, and his experiences with French knights in the Holy Land had been mixed to say the least.  Some of these had seemed inclined to fight back when the gang first apprehended them, but their captain had ordered them to surrender their arms and, grudgingly, they had done so. He did not look like a man who would tolerate any kind of disobedience.

It had been easy to pick out Guy of Gisborne’s cousin even before they came out of the woods; the resemblance was striking.  Sir Raymond was older, the hair at his temples turning grey, but he was also broader and more powerful.  It could have just been the armor, but it wasn’t. From the ugly scar next to his right eye to the brusque confidence of his orders, he was harder than his cousin in every way.

Yet, after they were disarmed, he and his men had been model captives.  When Much had offered them soup, they surrendered some of their own rations in exchange, the former soldier’s blue eyes going wide at his first glimpse of salt pork in months.  As Much distributed it, the rest of the gang let their guard down just enough to advance towards the warm fire where the knights were already seated. With a degree of relaxation in his stern features, Raymond turned to Robin.

“Ma cousin me dit que vous avec combattu dans les croisades.”

Robin stared at him for a moment, blinking in confusion.

“I . . . uh . . . parlez-vous . . . oh what’s the word for . . . Anglais?”

“Ah,” said Raymond.  “My apologies. My cousin tells me that you . . . fought with le Coeur du Lion in the crusades.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.  “Yes, that’s true.  I learned Persian and Arabic while I was there, but my French . . . well, that wasn’t much use.”

“You learned the Turk’s language?” Raymond asked, turning his head to look back at his second in command.  When he faced Robin again, it was with a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. “Impressive.  But le Coeur du Lion is still there . . . when last I heard.  As you were . . . I believe . . . part of his private guard? I am . . . surprised to find you here.”

Raymond’s English was slow and cautious, but there was a perceptible irony in his tone that put Robin on guard.

“Oh, I suppose your cousin neglected to tell you that,” he replied icily.  “Well, I will tell you. He is the reason I’m here.  You see, he came to Acre to murder the king in the dead of knight, and he stabbed me and left me for dead!”

As Robin’s fury increased, so did his volume until he was almost shouting at the end. Raymond looked back at his second again, heaving a sigh of exasperation.  “Mon Dieu, Cousin Guy.”

Robin’s nostrils flared.  “I still carry the scar, but I saved the king’s life, and your cousin . . .”

Raymond lifted his hand in a supplicating gesture, and Robin went silent.  “I have no doubt that you are telling the truth, Sir Robin,” he assured him.  “But in my years on crusade, I learned that corpses do not scar.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Robin asked, his voice low and menacing.

Raymond shrugged.  “Only that . . . I do not know why my cousin was chosen for this task, but it is fortunate for you and roi Richard that he was.

“And why is that?

“Because he is a weak boy,” Raymond scoffed.  “He has been since he washed up with his little sister in France, still crying for his maman.”

Robin stared at him in silence for a moment.  Then his scowl deepened.  “He’s no boy now, your cousin.  He’s a seasoned thug.  The things I’ve seen him do . . . they would surprise you, I think.”

Raymond leaned forward with interest, his lips relaxing into a smirk just barely reminiscent of Guy’s.  “Try me.”

Robin began the litany of Guy’s crimes under the sheriff’s orders: the mutilations, the murders, the homes burned.  It was list that usually drew expressions of horror from all but his gang, who had already heard it so many times.  Raymond only yawned in response.

“You have been on crusade, and my little cousin’s antics shock you? How long were you there? Where were you?”

Robin’s reply was terse.  “Five years.  Acre.”

For the first time, Raymond’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Five years . . . in Acre? You were at the Siege of Acre?” He turned to his second, muttering in French.  The man barked with laughter.

“What’s that?” Robin demanded, but Raymond ignored him.

“Tell me, with all the . . . ah . . . atrocities my cousin has committed . . . why have you not killed him?”

Robin’s sighed regretfully.  “Because . . . we do not kill, my gang and I.”

Slowly, a smile stretched across Raymond’s grim face, crinkling the skin around his eyes.  “You . . . do not kill?” he asked, dubious.

“Well . . . only when necessary,” Robin qualified.

“Il tue seulement quand c’est necessaire,” Raymond said for the benefit of the man behind him, louder this time, and the laughter in response was softer. Robin began to frown again as he looked back and forth between them. 

“I don’t see what’s so funny about . . . “ 

“How did King Richard feel about your not killing? That must have been . . .” Raymond pressed his lips together as though trying to come up with the right word.  Or perhaps he could laugh after all, and was struggling to contain it.  “Inconvenient” he said finally, “for a member of his private guard. I doubt he chose you for that role because you speak Persian and Arabic.” 

Robin was on his feet in an instant, clinching his fists at his side as he glowered down at Raymond. “When the king orders me to kill, it is necessary.” 

Raymond looked up at him placidly.  “My cousin told me so much about you.  That you were a great fighter, a great archer.  But he did not tell me about the . . . torrent of manure that gushes forth when you speak. I wish he had.” 

Robin’s mouth fell open, but this time no words came forth; he shook with rage. Around him, Raymond’s men began to tense, putting their plates aside.  Some began to struggle to their feet.  Raymond, however, stretched out his legs, leaning back and propping himself up on his palms.  

“You see,” he continued conversationally, “everywhere I have travelled, I have met croisés like you.  In Italy, in France, even in Ireland.  They all think they are so pious on this side of the Mediterranean, but in the Holy Land?” A malevolent smirk appeared on Raymond’s face. “Are we not all thugs?”  

Without a word, Robin snatched up his bow and notched an arrow, pointing it at Raymond’s heart as the gang leaped to their feet almost in unison, crying “Robin, no!” 

* * * 

It had been even harder than usual for Guy to get to sleep the night before.  All night he had tossed and turned, indifference giving way to worry as he wondered what had become of his cousin.  The sheriff would not pay the ransom, that much he knew, but what would Hood do when he realized it?  

He had not wanted Raymond to come.  The last time he had written, to tell him of his engagement, he had received only a short reply letting him know that Raymond’s duties in Ireland were far too important for him to consider leaving only for a wedding.  It had hurt at the time, but of course he had reason to be glad of it now.  If anything could have made that day worse, it would have been his cousin’s scorn.  Still, he could hardly bear the thought of him dead, especially at Hood’s hands. 

And so it was no surprise that his heart began to pound when he saw the small cloud of dust approaching Nottingham castle that morning.  But only when he rushed up to the ramparts did he see the familiar coat of arms. 

“Open the gates!” he shouted as he ran down the steps. 

As the gates creaked open, removing the only barrier between the two men, Guy felt his relief melt away.  The closer Raymond came on his heavy destrier, with his knights following close behind, the more intimidating he looked. Steeling himself, he advanced.

Guy, mon cousin,” Raymond called out in recognition, stopping Guy in his tracks.  He let Raymond close the gap between them himself.  Looking up as he stopped his horse next to him, Guy found his cousin’s gaze as steely as ever. 

“Comme c’est bon de te voir enfin,” Raymond continued. 

Guy dropped his eyes.  “It’s . . . good to see you as well, Cousin Raymond. 

“Tsk, don’t you even remember your mother tongue, gar _ **ç**_ on?” Raymond scolded as he dismounted.  Then he turned to Guy, opening his arms. 

For a moment, Guy hesitated.  Though his mother’s side of the family had been very tactile in the main, Raymond had been the exception. Indeed, Guy could not remember ever having had a kind touch from him.  Still, he was his cousin, the only member of his family that he could touch.  And all that had been years ago.  He stepped forward. 

As soon as Raymond wrapped his arms around him, he realized his mistake.  Raymond pulled him against him so tight the air rushed out of his lungs and he held him there, his chin pressing painfully against the metal spaulder on his shoulder.  He tightening his arms until Guy was certain he could hear his bones creak, and he was left gasping for breath when Raymond released him. 

“As soft as ever, I see,” Raymond observed, more detached than disappointed.  “I knew that croisé Anglais was wrong about you.” Guy looked at him, struggling to stand up straight.  

“How . . . how did you escape?”

Raymond shrugged.  “We did not escape.  We were set free.” Guy stared in disbelief.  “Set free?”“Not by Robin,” Raymond clarified.  “No, he was not in favor of the idea.  They rest of them argued with him all night; it was most entertaining.  They said . . . oh, what was it? . . . no amount of gold was enough to keep me in their camp for one more night.”

Guy blinked, awestruck.  He was about to ask about the camp when Raymond answered the question for him.“They put blindfolds on us and led us to the main road.”

“They?”

“Robin’s men.  Not Robin.  Finally, the big one had to knock him out with his staff, if you can believe that.”

Guy could believe it.

“How did . . . what did you say to him, Raymond?”he asked.

Raymond looked at him with a sardonic tilt of his head.  “I attacked his vulnerable spot, of course.  As any soldier would know.”

Guy ignored the barb, too intent on satisfying his curiosity. “His loyalty to King Richard?”

Raymond scoffed as he took his horse by the reins, leading him forward.

“Non, stupide embécile.  His vanity."

 

**Author's Note:**

> There have been a few tweaks as far as character's ages go. Based on the years in which the BBC Robin Hood and Pilgrimage are set, Guy and Raymond should be closer in age. But I liked how the power dynamic between them is amplified when I keep them at the ages they actually are in their respective canons (Guy in his mid-thirties and Raymond in his mid-forties).
> 
> Pilgrimage is not really my cup of tea for several reasons, but I did enjoy seeing Richard Armitage play a villain who actually lives up to the name instead of one who actually turns out to be more sympathetic than the protagonist!
> 
> This fic came out of my watching the film and realizing that Raymond actually is the kind of ruthless sadist that Robin believes Guy to be, but also the kind of antagonist Robin deserves because he's so good at dragging sanctimonious people. I mean, Raymond is awful, but the Cistercian's death is a lot more satisfying for me! 
> 
> Robin sweats hypocrisy in all three seasons, especially where the crusades are concerned. Guy has so many chances to call him out on it, but bless his heart, he never takes them. There, I fixed it!


End file.
